


When it Rains, it Pours and I Forget my Bloody Umbrella.

by Genkai



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Inspired by Real Events, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genkai/pseuds/Genkai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the storm of shit raining down on Jeremy Clarkson. I decided to write a little something that might help myself and some of the fans find some light at the end of the tunnel. I wanted this to be a bit more serious while staying true to his "tongue and cheek" humor and resilience. Jeremy deals with the drama and his divorce, with help from his children and mates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it Rains, it Pours and I Forget my Bloody Umbrella.

**Author's Note:**

> You could say I'm biased in believing that this "racist" nonsense going is blown out of proportion and that may be true, even so I hope to reflect some stability into the situation. This does take place in real time, so assume this is being written around the end of April, beginning of May. I'll admit, I was torn between third person and first person and I hope doing this in first person has produced the result I was looking for. At any rate, enjoy a small slice of serious fiction. We love you Jeremy Clarkson.

There are a lot of things that can bring a cheeky smile to my daft old face. For instance, settling into a supercar and spinning round the track until the world around me is deafened out, makes me happy. Or spending time with my children. As they've now grown older, they are more easier to talk to, as people, rather than someone you can't let die prematurely by underfeeding them or god forbid, buying a crap internet provider. Watching Piers Morgan's so-called career blow up in his face, is also very uplifting. Dogs also make my lips crinkle upwards because they're simple minded and need only a treat and a pat on the head, do that and they're forever in love with you.

So, my life isn't void of joy.

I've got great mates and a great job.

Lucky me, that is until the media have something clever to say about it.

So you can consider my mood awfully soured by the recent events.

There was some woman suing for a comment about the bridge in our Burma Special because apparently the simple word "slope" is racist and offensive, even when talking about our shit construction of a bridge over the River Kok. That was news to me. I wonder if the lovely Stephen Fry and his band of information gathering rabbits knew about that. Evidently, despite the context being about the bridge itself, the controversy picked up some wind but it was something that didn't really stay on my radar. I was busy fiddling with Top Gear Live, my home life, and of course working on bits for Series 22, as 21 had been received quite well.

I guess after so many years, Hammond, May and I are still doing something right.

We cock about, complain about backache and needing reading glasses more often these days, but I do think our time hasn't run out yet. We've got some more years left in us, let me assure you lot.

Someday, we will have to step down and let a new "more hip" generation of morons take our place. That was always in our future, far down the road. Whenever that point comes, we'd bow out on our own terms. That would be that.

Being fired, however, isn't how the show ought to end.

The annoying woman with nothing else to do but pointlessly sue wasn't the only thing to bring displeasure and anger my way, as it seems some old unaired footage from Series 19 had been miraculously dug up and brought to our attention thanks to The Mirror. Now those people always know what they're talking about don't they? They're always fair minded writers who don't try to slit everyone else's throats before they've had a chance to get a word in edgewise. Oh no, I'm sorry, I must be thinking of another, far more credible source. At any rate, the footage in question was from an outtake when I was trying to pick between two cars.

We played around a bit and an old rhyme came to the top of my head and when I got to the end, I quickly realized it wouldn't do. So I tapered off and mumbled the ending. A few more takes later and it was time to go home to my wife and kids. I didn't think anything of the slip up until we were in the editing room and I realized it couldn't, nor shouldn't be aired. So it was thrown away and we went with another take. Everyone knows I love to rattle cages and stereotype every nationality and automotive giant but I was aware that the rhyme in question would not go over well. Despite not giving a fuck about what most thought, I told the others that we wouldn't air it.

Simple as that?

I guess not.

So these past few weeks have been quite a hot hell for me.

There are tiresome vultures circling my piss poor reputation, which doesn't really bother me, begging for me to be sacked from Top Gear. The whole event blew up so fast that I was told to issue an apology, which I did online, though it didn't do much good. What was done, was done. I cannot take back what happened, I did all I could to have it not air, and it didn't. That is, until someone leaked it. If anyone ought to be apologizing, it's that guy. It honestly causes me great pain to sit in bed at night, unable to sleep, just knowing that somewhere, Piers Morgan is sleeping soundly, dreaming of the day Top Gear ends.

If I am fired, it will end.

There's no doubt about that. Richard and James do have other projects but they know, just like the rest of the world, that without me, there isn't a Top Gear. And the show doesn't deserve to go out that way, it really doesn't. We do a lot of insane things and say a lot of insane things but the fans and crew and everyone involved, deserve a lot better than some overreaction to something that shouldn't have been publicized, bringing down the greatest motoring show in the world. Our pokey little motoring show could easily move to another channel or even be streamed directly online like Netflix or something. 

Even so, this storm has taken a toll on me and that's not an easy thing to admit. Things between my wife and I hadn't been going well for a few years, we both knew we're bound to get a divorce, but like marriage, it's all about the timing. I do love Francie, and she does love me, in some small way, even now. But our love isn't what it used to be and I blame the work and travel I've done. I've been away far more than I'd like, but I can't say I haven't enjoyed where work takes me, it just happens to take me away from my family. I've missed birthdays and holidays and I'm not proud of that.

My children have grown up, or are almost hitting adulthood and I would really hate to have an outtake make all of missed time, be for naught. It's absolutely ridiculous. I enjoy purposefully taking jabs at people but it makes me livid to have actually offended someone when it wasn't my intent, when I did everything I could to not offend anyone. Sure, I can joke about the fat ugly Americans and their stupid love affair with cheese and strawberries. And that they're rubbish at making cars. Or I can scoff at the French or laugh at Footballers and their terrible wives. Or I can write endlessly about how women shouldn't spend hours fiddling with a purse when they ought to be focusing on the road ahead of them.

What's in their purse anyway? Bars of gold? 

My point is though, the comment would have offended people, obviously. And it wasn't meant to be a joke so what was the point of including it? If I want to make a joke, i can and usually will. But in that instance, it didn't seem right so I insisted it not be used. And yet somehow luck was on someone else's side that day because despite my weariness, it got pulled into the limelight and exploded into something even bigger than I could have imagined. Headlines were dubbing me a racist, demanding I be fired or even killed. It was so much, that I wasn't sure if I should burst into laughter or tears.

I mean, the last thing I wanted for my daughter to come and ask if I really was a racist.

To which, I'd have to explain that I'm not, just someone with a big mouth which needs a foot in it every now and then.

And more often now, than usual.

So on May 3'd I hobbled over to a bar because I didn't need to leave for Barbados until next week or so. I ordered a large beer and settled in for what would be a long night of drinking and pretending none of this was actually happening. Word was breaking out about my relationship with Francie crumbling. But it wasn't really news. Things between us hadn't been fantastic for quite some time but because of all the hoopla, it was only a matter of time before the hungry thieving vultures picked at the tiniest of issues that didn't matter to anyone. Oh wait, they already were. Even so, the timing with shit and I wondered if Hammond or May felt like joining me for a night of getting pissed.

To appease James, we could even play darts if he wanted. And if Richard wanted to pick a fight with a stranger, I wouldn't be stopping him. In fact, I'd encourage it because it would at least get some of the heat off of me. Having summoned them to my location, I ordered a basket of chips and continued to tend to my drink of choice. By the time they arrived, I was halfway done with my second beer. Hammond ordered some crap American brew and James had his ale as usual. When I finished my second beer and ordered a third, I finally spoke up, breaking the mutual silence. "It could be worse." I noted in my usual tone as I grabbed a chip and ate it.

"Yeah, could be." Hammond shrugged, clearly not sure how to cheer me up.

"It's probably going to get worse." I said bitterly.

"Don't say that, mate...or it might actually happen." James attempted as he took a drink and licked his lips. The three of us were sitting at the bar, our backs to the other patrons. A soft jazz tune was in the background, not my taste per say but I couldn't be bothered with music at the moment. Not even Genesis seemed like a comfort. Only beer and more beer. And then maybe some hard liquor. "This will blow over, they're not really going to fire you." James continued as another beer was set down in front of me. I muttered a thanks though I wasn't sure if it was to the bar tender or to my mate sitting beside me. Hammond reached over and patted my back, as he was sitting on the other side of me.

"If they did, there would be some massive revolt. I've checked online, you've got a hell of a lot of supporters." Richard told me as we drank a bit more and nibbled on chips which by now, were cold but still eatable.

He was right, sort of.

Even so, I felt like crap.

I missed Francie and I just felt so damn tired.

It was a lot to deal with. Usually, I could roll the hate off my shoulders or even bask in it. But right now, as I hunched over my beer in the bar, I felt so old and so tired and so fed up with everything around me. The government was crap. The press was crap. And even the BBC was crap, and they should have been the ones defending me, not just the two mates on either side of me. "I got a text from Francie this morning." I commented as I finished my third beer and motioned for another. It seemed Hammond was still nursing his first while James was now on his second round. Once May finished, a round of darts would be in order since apparently after two pints, he was golden. While I wasn't too great at darts myself, it would do some good to see one of us smiling drunkenly.

"What did she want?" Richard inquired.

"Just checking in, seeing how I was holding up."

Rather than echo her question, Richard and James just nodded and I took a large drink. They didn't need to ask how I was. They knew. I rubbed my face and soon we got up and went to play a few rounds of darts. The rest of the night was alright. Soon we all went our separate ways. I sought refuge in my London flat and plopped down on the couch. I didn't bother turning on the telly, I just faded out of reality. When I regained consciousness, I felt pretty bad. I took the usual painkillers and downed a glass of water before I went on with my day. I did some writing, rang up my children to see how they were doing, and then I headed out for a walk because fresh air was needed, desperately.

A walk around the area went by rather uneventfully.

No one stopped me to berate me.

That was good.

The next two days went by just as uneventfully. I did keep an eye on how things were progressing, or rather not progressing. There would be an investigation into the leaked footage which I thought was a bloody waste of time and money. Surely there were other things to report on. If my hands weren't tied, I would have done something productive myself. But I didn't, so I wrote for work, planned for the next series and listened to music. I was warned by the BBC but it wasn't sure how serious they were, due to the fact that if I were to utter an offense remark, anywhere at anytime, I'd be fired. So was the next series meant to be handled by May and Hammond alone while I stand around acting as eye candy?

Nonsense.

Obviously I'd still be allowed to talk through a muzzle. Right?

So this warning made no sense to me. It was only needed to pacify the easily offended people, who I've offended by trying not to offend them. I don't see the fairness in this mess. Of course, things aren't expected to be fair but the fiasco is turning into quite a nightmare. So I've decided another night out would solve the situation. Unless The Mirror caught sight of me and wanted to run with another idiotic tactless story about me somehow being an alcoholic. I picked another pub this time and found it to be fairly unoccupied. I slid up to the bar and ordered some whiskey, neat. 

As the glass was cradled in my hand, a woman slipped into the seat next to me. 

There were plenty of open seats and she had to take the one next to me? I hated people who did that, or weird blokes who took the stall next to yours when you're taking a piss. Who needs a neighbor in that situation? And I certainly didn't need a neighbor at the moment. Or maybe I did. I stared dead ahead and took a sip of my drink, the fire tingling on my lips. "Can I buy you a drink?" She turned to me as she set her purse next to her.

"What?"

"With all the stuff going on with you lately, I'd love to buy you a drink." She said, her green eyes staring at me. I looked her over, sizing her up. She appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, probably a someone's mother or wife. I didn't spot a ring on her finger, though I still had mine on, for whatever pathetic lowly reason. "I'm not trying to hit on you or something, I'm just trying to be nice. I doubt many people are nice to you these days, but sometimes that is your fault...but I don't think what's going on is necessarily your fault." She explained and took out her wallet. When the bar tender approached us, she ordered herself a beer and then turned to me. I hadn't finished my drink yet but I ordered another whiskey for when I was done.

The woman paid for both and slipped her wallet away as I took a longer sip from my glass.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She inquired as she grabbed her beer and held it in both her hands. I wasn't sure why she would be asking me. I didn't know her and she only knew so much about me. I didn't respond and she just took a drink, taking the hint. "I guess not, I don't blame you." She sighed and ran a hand through her light brown hair. I almost wondered if she was with some newspaper, looking for an inside scoop. It wasn't a stretch right? "If it makes you feel any better, my son would go berserk if anything happened to his favorite program, I'd think he'd try to egg the BBC Headquarters. Him and all of his mates from school." She smiled.

"What kind of mother raises a son to react in that way?" I asked with a teasing twang.

"A good mother, thank you very much." She smiled and took a long drink, as did I. 

"I assume it's Top Gear and not some American drivel."

"Oh yes it's Top Gear. Our house loves it." She told me as we continued to drink, casting the occasional glace at the other. As she finished her beer and I finished my whiskey, only to have another placed down in front of me, she got up and grabbed her things. "Well Mister Clarkson, I can say it's been a pleasure. You'll get through this, because let's face it, if this brings you down, you're not the stubborn bellend everyone knows you to be. This nonsense is thin air and thin air fades away pretty quick. You've got a lot of people who love you and your silly opinions. You're honest and harsh but never cruel or ugly. This country needs a slap in the face to wake up to reality." She said. "Don't let this get to you, you're better than that."

With that being said, she headed off, leaving me to finish my second drink in peace.

That night, I headed over to the house in Chipping Norton to see the kids and relieve the nanny of her duties. The kids and I played video games and ordered pizza. We actually had some fun together. I went to bed that night feeling a bit better about everything. While this mess wasn't fair, it could be cleaned up over time. Life would get back to normal and we'd back in the studio cocking about and making comments for those very special fans of ours. The following morning, I rang up Richard and James and invited them over for a big brunch. Mindy and the girls came, as did Sarah and we joked around and had a great time together and the stormy cloud over my head were starting to fade away.

Let's face it, when it rains, it pours and I forget my umbrella.

Even so, I have a few people who are willing to lend me a raincoat and give me an earful for being a massive idiot. And then the sun comes out and I remember punching Piers Morgan in the face and things seem better in the world. New supercars are being released and I get to spend more time with my children and mates, there's no reason why I have to have a bad day because someone else is, right?


End file.
